


Second Beginning

by MunchkinHug



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Family, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Caretaker Steve Rogers, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Food Issues, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Sexual Age Play, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Panic Attacks, Reference to Past Non-Con, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers makes questionable life choices, Steve is honestly just trying his best, questionable use of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25304425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MunchkinHug/pseuds/MunchkinHug
Summary: Everything was going to be alright. Steve held tightly to the mantra, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. Nothing was going right. Nothing was going to bring back the smiling, dashing James Buchanan Barnes he'd once known. As the weeks pass and Bucky's condition worsens, Steven is trapped with the last choice he ever wanted to make. He must face the question of what he's willing to sacrifice to save his best friend. Would his best friend even want this?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Tony Stark & Avengers Team
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [i dwell here and so do you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944266) by [Mr_Phich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Phich/pseuds/Mr_Phich). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank the amazing Mr_Phich and the many others in this fandom who's created such fantastic representations of non-sexual age play and recovery. In particular, Mr_Phich's representation of caretaking and disability is what inspired this fic. Hopefully, I do it justice.
> 
> TW: Unintentional self-harm and panic attacks. A character makes a difficult ethical decision that drastically effects another character's bodily autonomy.

Steve wanted to believe everything would be okay.

He told himself Bucky would recover even as he watched the doctors and nurses launch themselves into action over his friend’s broken body. Bucky thrashed and moaned—out of pain or fear Steve wasn’t sure. Bucky’s eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris. The tears streaming down his sunken, stumbled cheeks shone brightly under the sterile blinding light of the operating room lights. 

“Get those restraints now!” A doctor swore as one of Bucky’s fists swung out in a wild, desperate arc. 

Steve rushed forward to stop the ordelies but the damage had been done. 

Bucky let out a hoarse scream when the straps touched his arms. He thrashed like a wild beast. Arms and legs shot out and he launched himself from the table and away from the foreign hands reaching for him. Steve knelt by the trembling figure curled on the floor. Bucky didn’t seem to hear him. 

“Get him back on that table! He’s unstable!” 

“Just... just give me a second!” Steve hurled back. He glared knives at the doctor just long enough to see him back down. Steve turned his attention back to Bucky. 

_Everything was going to be okay._

Run grooves of oozing blood grew on Bucky’s arms and neck as he scratched and clutched at his skin. It was like he was afraid his very body was trying to escape him. He scrabbled and groped for it leaving deep scratches in his wake. 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie...” 

It took Steve precious seconds before he fully realized the broken mantra his friend was pleading. 

“I’m here, Buck! I promise you I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

_Everything was going to be okay_. 

A commanding voice erupted at the entrance of the Shield operating theater.

“What in name of good mother Theresa is going on here?” 

Steve looked up to find Tony striding into the room in a haze of righteous indignation. A slim imposing woman stood at his side, eyes flashing and raking across the room with authority. 

“That’s it, leave the room if I point at you. You... you... yeah, you hit the road buddy, you, you...” 

Tony stood eye to eye with the doctor that had called for restraints. “I didn’t forget about you. I’m officially relieving you of your duty. I brought my own doc so go ahead and head for the nearest exit. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars--” 

The doctor’s face went red with rage and he raised a hand to argue, but Tony never gave him the chance. “Listen, I appreciate what you thought you were trying to do, but the frozen Russian super-spy is my pet project now. My zone, my authority. I have my own doctor—personally vetted by me and on my payroll. She knows how to handle super-soldiers; you don’t.” 

Steve didn’t watch long enough to see the doctor and the majority of the medical staff leave. Bucky’s breathing suddenly turned odd and pained—more gasps than anything else. 

“Buck? Hey, buddy. Come on, it’s okay. Take some deep breaths. Bucky!” 

“Let me see him, please.” 

Steve shifted ever so slightly to allow Helen through. She knelt beside him and surveyed Bucky with a critical eye. 

“Are you aware of any chest injuries?” 

“No, he seemed okay when I found him. I didn’t see anything wrong.” Steve was babbling and he knew it but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. This was Bucky. His Bucky. His Bucky that was currently hunched on the floor possibly dying. 

“James, my name is Helen. I’m here to help you. Are you having trouble breathing?” 

“He’s gasping!” Steve cut in. 

“Steve, let me work, please.” 

Bucky seemed to curl in on himself even tighter. His eyes clamped shut. 

“Bucky, I’m going to give you something to help you breathe and relax. It won’t hurt. I promise.” 

Helen turned to Steve. “I have a medication that’s formulated for your metabolism. We’ve used it before to treat you when you fractured your femur.” 

Steve nodded at the distant memory. The leg hadn’t been life-threatening by any means, but the pain of having it set had been embarrassing. Steve had relented and allowed Helen to try the new medication. It hadn’t put him to sleep but it had relaxed him to the point of a quiet and nearly painless fugue. 

_Everything would be okay. Bucky was going to be okay._

“Steve, I need you to hold this mask near his face. It doesn’t have to touch his face, but it needs to be close enough for him to breathe in the oxygen and medication.” 

“You’re drugging him?” Steve couldn’t quite keep the reproach out of his voice. Drugging felt almost as bad as restraints. 

Bucky gave a bitten off cry and his nails dug deeper into his skin. He was trying to scoot beneath the exam table. 

“Steve, he’s suffering. This stuff will let Helen get to work without torturing him.” It was rare for Tony to sound so serious. There was no trace of the carousing playboy. 

“Tony’s right, Steve,” Helen urged. “This medicine will help Bucky relax. I can’t help him if he’s fighting or hurting himself.” 

Steve accepted the face mask from Tony and inched it closer to Bucky’s hunched face. He didn’t seem to be aware of the mask or the fine mist of aerosolized medicine. 

_Everything would be okay._

Steve found himself holding his breath as he waited for the medication to work. Bucky’s hunched, trembling body slowly began to still and the cries faded. Helen nodded approvingly and motioned for several nurses and orderlies to approach. 

“Slowly and quietly please. Get the slid-board beneath him. We lift on three.” 

Steve kept the mask close to Bucky’s face as the medical team got to work. Bucky’s eyes were hooded and glazed. The scratching had stopped and his limbs were lax and floppy as the team eased him back onto the table. 

Helen swore quietly to herself when she saw the arm. 

Steve stared hard, gut churning. 

Tony let out a low, impressed whistle. “So _that’s_ where the arm attaches,” he muttered. 

“Let’s get radiology in here please. I need full x-rays of the left arm and thoracic spine stat. We need to find out how deep the arm’s infrastructure goes. Also, I need IV access and telemetry please. Let’s get him on a heart monitor.” 

Everything would be okay. 

Steve found himself slowly being forced away from Bucky as the medical team bustled around the table, starting IV’s, sticking monitor electrodes to Bucky’s now-bare chest. 

Steve couldn’t peel his eyes away from the bloody, swollen arm. The metal plating was bent upward in jagged strips. It looked like someone had taken a can opener to the prosthetic and forced the metal away from the skin. Surely Bucky hadn’t.... 

The churning in Steve’s gut evolved into rolling waves of nausea. 

“Steve, you’re looking a little green over there.” 

Tony was at his side, staring at him carefully. 

“What say you and me go get a coffee? Let the good doc and her folks do their magic.” 

“I’m not leaving him.” 

Tony opened his mouth to argue, but a new voice interrupted. It was hoarse, shell of a whisper. It was a single word. 

“Steve...” 

He pushed past the nurses and knelt by Bucky’s side, grabbing the twitching hand in his own. 

“I’m here, pal. I’m not goin’ anywhere, Buck. I promise. You’re safe now.” Steve kept up a stream of desperate reassurance though he doubted Bucky heard much. The hand he was clutching tightened weakly. Steven hoped Bucky knew he was there. 

Helen took in the scene and gave a brief nod of approval as she continued to work. 

_Everything would be okay._

*** 

It took 2 full hours before Helen pronounced Bucky stable enough to leave the operating room and take up residence in a private, closely guarded space on the Tower’s medical floor. He’d passed out after and slept through the remainder of tests and exams. Steve wasn’t sure whether it was the stress and pain or the medication still flowing through the oxygen face mask. Bucky hadn’t released his grip on Steve’s hand, though. 

Helen was talking urgently with Tony as the orderlies wheeled Bucky’s sedate figure away. Steve stayed by his side, but turned to listen in on side-conversation. 

“It needs to come off. Now.” 

“Do you have everything you need for the surgery?” 

“I’ll need one or more of your saws—something strong. My medical equipment isn’t strong enough to withstand whatever metal it’s made of.” 

“It looks like an alloy. Titanium is my best guess. I have a carbide-tipped band saw that should work.” 

"Can you do tomorrow morning? I'll need the night to get organized and plan."

Regretfully, Steve extracted his hand from Bucky’s. He let the orderlies wheel him away and forced himself to stay to confront Tony and Helen. Whatever they were planning needed to stop. They had no right. He was not about to force Bucky through an invasive surgery. Not when he was too broken and panicky to even stay awake or answer questions. 

You’re not cutting into him!” he hissed at the pair. 

Tony’s eyes were challenging, but Helen just looked exhausted. 

“Steve,” she began. “It’s for his best interest. He’s suffering.” 

"The arm’s poisoning him, Steve,” Tony interrupted. “It's infected and between the metal toxicity and the pockets of drugs they laced inside, that thing will euthanize your super buddy by the end of the week. Besides, from what I saw on the x-rays, the weight of the arm’s infrastructure is destroying his skeleton. The thing’s too heavy and he’s getting too thin and weak to compensate for it. It’s literally pulling him to pieces.” 

Steve wanted to argue. He really did. He kept picturing Bucky under the harsh operating theater lights. Naked. Afraid. In pain. Confused. There was no way he’d be able to consent to surgery. He'd have no idea what was happening to him. He may as well be back at Hydra.

“Steve, officially, you aren’t Bucky’s medical proxy, but he cannot be expected to give informed consent now--not in his condition. You’ve known him the longest though and you’re the closest. I would like your consent so we can move forward as quickly as we can. The longer the arm stays on, the more damage it will do.” 

“Come on, Cap. Give us the green light. I’ll even make him a new arm later on if that’s what’s holding you up.” 

“He... he won’t be awake for the surgery?” 

“He’ll be under the same deep sedation he was earlier. It’s not anesthesia, but he’ll be unaware of what’s happening and relatively comfortable,” Helen assured him. 

“How long?” 

Helen and Tony shared a private look. 

“However long it takes to saw through the barbaric metal skeleton they fused into your buddy,” Tony muttered unhelpfully. 

*** 

“Hey there, stranger.” 

Steve felt a warm paper cup pressed into his hand. He looked up at Natasha’s quiet smile. 

“Come here often?” 

“Nat, they’ve had him for thirteen hours.” 

“He’s in the best hands possible.” 

“Tony super-glued his fingers together. Twice in one week.” 

Natasha smirked at the memory. 

“Well, Helen’s with him at least. I doubt she’s letting Tony do much.” 

Steve sipped at the scorching coffee and rubbed his burning eyes. Time felt frozen. Like he’d been sitting in that chair long before the Valkyrie went down. Like it was just the day after he’d lost Bucky on that train. 

"Steve, you made the right decision," Natasha murmured. He couldn't meet her eyes. 

"They're _cutting_ into him. Doing God-knows-what. Bucky didn't give permission. He'd hate this."

"He'd trust you. He'd trust that you are just trying to do what's best for him when he can't make decisions on his own right now."

"What if he wakes up and hates me for this. It's his arm!"

"If he keeps that arm, he may not wake up," Natasha reminded him with a pointed look.

“Steve?” 

He looked up at Nat, but she was sitting silent now. She was looking over toward the doorway that led to the operating theater. 

Helen was standing there waiting, face drawn with fatigue. She was missing her crisp white coat and the lower legs of her blue scrubs were stained with something dark and red. 

“Steve,” she repeated. 

He jumped up, nearly spilling the coffee in his hands. Nat gracefully relieved him of the risky drink as he rushed toward the doctor. 

“I’m sorry. I know this was such a long, horrible wait for you. I wanted to come and give you updates, but I couldn’t stop what I was doing.” 

“He’s okay? You got it off.” 

_It_. Just “it.” Steve couldn’t bring himself to call it by it’s real name. 

Helen gave a wane smile. “Yes, we managed to remove the prosthetic and all the underlying infrastructure. However--” 

There it was. The bad news. The ax that was about to fall. 

“When we removed all the metal that secured the arm to his vertebrae we found his axial skeleton was severely weakened and compromised. We had to go in with rods and fuse several vertebrae together to reinforce his upper skeleton. He’s going to need a lot of physical therapy as he recovers.” 

Steve wasn’t quite sure what he was listening to. He heard the words and facts, but they flowed over him numbly like ice water. Bucky was okay? He’d made it through the surgery? 

“Steve, I know you want to see him, but I need to prepare you for what you’ll see.” 

Steve swallowed hard and gave a jerky nod. 

“We had to remove a great deal of tissue and muscle to fully remove the prosthetic. The amputation site is very... extensive. It's referred to as an intrascapular amputation. His entire left shoulder is gone now.” She waited, her eyes boring into Steve. She looked like she was watching for a bomb explosion. Preparing herself for the shrapnel and fall-out. 

“He’s.. He's okay, though, right?” Steve stammered. “He’s going to wake up?” 

“Yes, it will take a while, but we’ll slowly wean him off the sedatives and allow him to awaken. We’ll do our best to manage the pain. He’s going to have a lot of tubes and wires coming off him, Steve. He’s going to look very sick, but he is stable. I promise. We’re taking care of him.” 

“Can I see him. Now, please.” 

Helen nodded and nodded to the door. “I’ll walk you over.” 

Steve turned back once. Nat was still there. She gave him a thumbs up and tiny smile. Steve smiled feebly. He took the smile for what it was. A promise. Natasha would be right there when he needed her again. 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve remembered the day Bucky had taken on an entire gang for him. Four boys, all three years older than both of them. Not even boys really. The angry, leering gang had been on the cusp of manhood while Steve and Bucky were still trapped in the immature, hormone-fueled shells of youth. Steve hadn't cared how old the group had been or how old or tall he was. 

The leader of the group had had a big mouth and an even bigger sex drive. He'd been pestering Laura Jane. Demanding her number. Demanding her address. Demanding _Her_. 

And, well, Steve couldn't have that. Like the chivalrous, scrawny fool he was, he'd rushed over and ordered the boy to give back Laura's purse and apologize. Steve had taken one punch, promptly rubbed the pain-induced tears from his throbbing eye and stumbled back up. He'd been on his third punch, and second rib-kick when Bucky had raced over and threw himself on the boy. 

They hadn't stopped the gang by any means, but Laura had had ample distraction to pick up her purse and take off running. In the end, Bucky had looked even worse than Steve. He could only see out of the cracked sliver of his swollen, left eyelid, but that hadn't stopped him from giving a bloody grin at Steve and hauling him back up on his feet. They'd staggered back down the street to lick their wounds, giggling hysterically over the ridiculousness of their bravery and honor. Steve had leapt to Laura's honor without a second though but Bucky had leapt to his. What did that say about their priorities?

Steve sat hunched in the hard plastic shell of the bedside chair and tried unsuccessfully to real-in his nostalgia and reminiscing. Bucky had looked so hurt and bloody then. He looked so much worse now. He didn't look like Bucky any more. 

The tubes trailed from every arm and orifice of his body. Plastic oxygen tubing snaked from a swollen throat and dry, cracked lips. There were so many wires too. Wires on from the telemetry monitoring on chest. The colored stickers stood out starkly among the purple and green bruises on his now-broken chest. Apparently, they'd done CPR for nearly five minutes during the 13-hour surgery. They'd lost him and struggled to resuscitate him. In that 5 minute interval of chest compressions and defibrillator shocks, 6 of Bucky's ribs were now fractured. Then there were all the IV baggies. They hug above Bucky's bed like some obscenely morbid chandelier of plastic and colored fluids. Steve had had no idea of what was inside and had pestered every nurse he could until he had a full list of names neatly scribbled down on a piece of paper in his pocket. He knew every drug and fluid name and he'd even gone through the effort to tap out the names in the tiny search bar of his phone. He hated his phone, but the power of his internet search bar was the only redeeming feature. He had to know what they were pumping inside Bucky's unresponsive body. Now he did. Normal Saline for hydration. Norepinephrine to bolster the horribly low blood pressure that continued to plague Bucky since surgery. Ampillicin/Sulbactam to ward off the infection that was trying to invade his friend's body from the rotting sections of flesh around the prosthetic arm. Keppra for the seizures that had attacked Bucky's nervous system several times. Apparently, this drug was supposed to prevent future ones from occurring. The list of drugs and fluid went on. Steve kept the list updated. Crossing out names and adding them as the nurses swapped out bags from the IV poles throughout the day. 

The worst part was all that was missing. Steve tried and failed to keep his eyes away from the massive dent of missing tissue and bone in Bucky's left upper torso. The entire shoulder was missing. Gauze and bandages hid most of it, but it didn't make the emptiness of the wound any better. Bucky looked crooked and off-kilter, like his entire spine was skewed to the side. 

"Steve? Steve?"

He looked up, one hand going to massage his stiff, aching neck. 

Nat was pulling up a chair beside him, the soft squeak of plastic on linoleum made his head hurt worse. She passed him a green coffee cup and a small paper baggy. His gut churned at the thought of eating, but Nat's eyes were hard and insistent. She didn't look away until she saw him open the bag and pull out the miniature egg quiches and take a bite. 

"You need more than Starbucks, Steve," she pressed. "I guess this will have to do for now. Next time, I'm bringing a whole pizza."

"Nat," he argued. "Please, don't."

"You can't take care of him if you're on your back from hypoglycemia. I know what your metabolism is like."

Steve decided not to engage. He popped the remainder of the quiche in his mouth and silently withdrew the next. Nat was satisfied at the moment. 

"I talked to Helen in the hall. She told me the surgery was a success."

"His heart stopped," Steve muttered coldly. "They broke his ribs trying to bring him back."

Nat stared sedately back at him. Her face carried the faintest trace of a frown as if she was trying to peer into Steve's head. 

"Steve, considering what they had to do to him, he endured the surgery very well. They brought him back. Not everyone could have survived that."

"Look at him, Nat!" Steve burst. He gestured wildly at the limp, sheet white body beside him. The woman regarded him patiently. 

"Steve, you can't be this hysterical when Bucky wakes up. He'd going to need you to calm down, get your shit together, and stop freaking that hell out over how hurt he is. He's going to need you to be strong."

It stung. It was like his mother was back from the grave and lecturing him over his temper for the hundredth time. She had had no patience for raised voices and wild emotion. Said they were the Devil's tools.

"I..." Steve rubbed a hand across his eyes. "You're right," he finally mustered out. Nat gave him a knowing look and something like a smile. 

"Of course I am." She sat back in her chair and swept an assessing gaze over Bucky and the various tubes and wires trailing from him. "Helen says they'll keep him asleep for the next week. They want to give his metabolism time to start healing."

Steve nodded. "They think the risk of seizures is lower if he stays asleep." He gestured the IV baggy that held the seizure medication. He swallowed hard and nodded at the pole that held the complicated IV pump. "They have him on a strong pain medication too. It's a constant drip. They don't want him to wake up in pain."

Natasha nodded. She opened her mouth, but the door opened before she could finish. A nurse stepped in briskly, a pink plastic tub and a pile of washcloths in his arms. He smiled kindly at Steve and Natasha and set the equipment down on the rolling bedside table. "I'm here to help Bucky get cleaned up a little and re-positioned," he explained. "We want his skin staying clean, dry, and intact. Plus, surgery always makes you stinky. Best to get all those harsh cleaning agents off." Natasha nodded understandingly and stood. She gave Steve a long look that he knew translated into concern. She stepped out but not before making a telephone sign next to her head. She shot him a look and he nodded reluctantly. 

"I'm Bob, the nurse continued, filling the tub with warm water and adding several dollops of soap. Steve turned his attention back to the man. He was smiling with bright, knowing eyes and quick hands. Steve felt himself frown. He was a nurse, but this man was also very much not a woman. He'd never met a male nurse. They hadn't existed. Back when he was a boy and even in the army, the only male medical professionals were doctor, surgeons, or orderlies for transport. 

"Would you like to help? You seem very close to Bucky. I think he'd like it." Bob was folding washcloths, oblivious to the confusion Steve felt on his face. Bob very gently folded down the blanket until it only reached Bucky's narrow waste. Bob seemed utterly nonplussed about the horrible bruising covering Bucky's rubs. He pressed several absorbent pads around Bucky's sides and tucked them into to protect the bedding. Steve found himself holding a warm washcloth. 

"Now, we don't want him catching a chill. We're going to clean one section at a time and then dry him off and re-cover him. Because he's injured and weak, he's going to have some issues regulating his temperature so we have to help him out a bit." Bob went to work, gently wiping down Bucky's chest around the heart monitor stickers. The dried blood stains and unearthly blue of the surgical skin cleaner faded. A pile of dirty washcloths quickly grew. Bob still seemed calm and unfazed. It was like he'd done this hundreds of times before. Maybe he had. 

"Okay, let's cover his chest for now. Go ahead and give his face a little wipe-down. It's okay. Just work around the ventilator tubing. It won't come out, I promise." Steve swallowed hard and gently dabbed at the gray, exhausted face beneath his hands. Bucky looked so old and frail. Like his skin was paper in danger of tearing. 

Bob was still at work. He uncovered one of Bucky's legs and was carefully wiping it down. He finished so quickly and moved on to the next. The legs were dried and covered and then Bob was folding the blanket down below Bucky's hips. Steve quickly averted his eyes. He didn't want to see this. He and Bucky had seen each other naked and vulnerable plenty of times in the tents or showers after battle. Hell, they'd seen plenty of other men naked. This was different though. Bucky had a tube in his penis. Bucky couldn't even pee on his own. Steve's gut twisted. He didn't want to see this. 

Bob was so fast. He finished and then knelt down to adjust the plastic tubing that trailed into the half-empty urine bag dangling on the side. 

"Okay, I have some pillows," Bob explained matter-of-factly. "I'm going to turn Bucky on his side slightly toward you and place the pillows beneath him. We want to keep him turned from side to side every two hours or so to take pressure off his back and butt. He's at risk for skin break-down and we really really don't want any pressure injuries forming, especially since he has so little tissue on his hips and back. You're friend lost quite a bit of weight recently I see." Steven felt hallow as Bob carefully log-rolled Bucky onto his left side. Steve held his friend in place while Bob went to work wedging pillows beneath Bucky's hip and shoulder. 

Bob finished up his tasks by methodically going through every IV baggy and noting the name and the corresponding rate on the pumps. He passed Steve the call light with a gentle, understanding smile. "I'm literally one button press away. You need anything--coffee, blanket--you give me a call." Bob's smile turned serious. "If you feel like something's wrong or you see a change in Bucky, you call right away. Even if it's false alarm, we'd all much rather be safe than sorry." Steve gave a grim nod and clutched the plastic call light on his lap. It felt like a life-line. It felt reassuring to think that all he had to do was push a button and an army of people would come to help.

"I'll be back," Bob promised. He gave a friendly wink and marched out with the piles of used washcloths. Steve was left alone. He looked back at Bucky. He was definitely cleaner. The grey and brown grime covering his body was gone. The blood from the surgery and injuries was too. He looked more alive now. 

Steve sank back in his chair and closed his eyes. 

* * *

"You were the most renown neurosurgeon to every practice. Your record was impeccable."

"The operative word being 'was.'"

"I'm not sure what more I can do for him. The arm was removed, but his spine, brain, and nervous system are in tatters. He's had upwards of five seizures since coming out of surgery. More if you count the transient, absence seizures. We've stopped counting those. There's been too many."

"What did you expect would happen? You pried pounds of metal, wiring, and hardware out of his central and peripheral nervous system. You must have known there would be consequences."

"Steven!" Hellen was glaring at him, eyes bright was exasperation. "I am trying to ask for your help. There was a time when you'd be jumping to take over one of my patient cases."

"I am not a doctor or a surgeon any more," Steven remarked blandly. His cape gave a small flutter, almost as if it was agreeing with him, reinforcing his career change.

"I know you're not, but you still have the time and experience. More so now than ever. You're a sorcerer or now or something! You could probably do more now than every before. A surgery would be nothing for you!"

"I can't just march into an operating theater, pick up a scalpel, and start cutting. Especially after you just did. That man will be flat on his back recovering for weeks if not months," he reminded her. 

"Please, Steven," Hellen murmured. She extended a folder toward him. "Please, just look. Look at the scans. Look at what we removed. At the damage." She hesitated. "I haven't told anyone yet... especially not Captain Rogers. There is a very good chance Bucky will never recover from this. He's not actively dying, but I'm not sure he'll ever really recover. That he'll every really be a person again." She lifted her chin defiantly. A challenge hung in the air. "Not unless something changes. Not unless you step in and help him."

Steven Strange sighed and gave a humorless smile. He was use to people begging for his help. There'd been a time he enjoyed it. Enjoyed the power surge of knowing he was someone's only hope. Now, however, it just felt tiring. Heavy. He had so many other responsibilities. He was responsible for maintaining Reality. Time. Order. He tried to imagine himself scrubbing up and stepping back into his old role of surgeon. 

He took the file from Helen. 

"Fine. I'll look, but I make no promised."


End file.
